


Suffocate Us

by TotalBellarkeTrash



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Eventual Smut, F/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-13
Updated: 2016-01-19
Packaged: 2018-05-13 13:17:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 12,660
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5709607
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TotalBellarkeTrash/pseuds/TotalBellarkeTrash
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Five years after the last time they spoke, Bellamy Blake discovered the dying body of his ex-lover, Clarke Griffin, in a Detroit alleyway. In an attempt to save Clarke from herself, Bellamy reignites the feelings and emotions they both buried years ago, but their painful past threatens to barrier them from one another for good. </p><p>"I remember the last time we were together, the nasty fight we had. I took a sharp breath, guilt and regret washing over me like her blood that continued to vigorously pump into my hands.<br/>“Get out! Go! I never want to see your fucking face again. Leave, Clarke! Just go, damn it!”<br/>And so she did. I went years without seeing her, although I often longed to. Years of regret and unsettled emotion began to bubble up inside of me, making my stomach clench even more so than before. I brushed a strand of golden blond hair out of her face, exposing a broken girl. Clarke was fighting for air through a busted lip, her eye swollen, shades of purple and blue. I swallowed hard, forcing myself to look away. I remembered her as strong. When we parted, her spirit was fierce and her soul like fire. What had to happen for such a fighter to end up here, like this?"</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> Hey y’all! This is my first time posting on AO3, so bare with me please.

Bellamy

* * *

My head pounded, worn from the long day’s work. I stood up slowly from my office desk, stretching my arms high above my head and yawning simultaneously. The office was nearly silent, the only other noise coming from a keyboard across the room.  

            “Hey, Alex, I’m out for the night,” I called over to the man who generated the repeated “click-click”. We were the only two still left, being the primary managers for second shift we often had to work late. Alex glanced up at me and nodded, his brown eyes bloodshot.

            “Me too, man,” He said, raising up out of his seat, “It’s been a long day.”  I nodded in agreement, and looked down to check my watch. 2:28 am. Wonderful. I dreaded the walk back to my apartment. Although it was only a few blocks, a fifteen minute walk at the most, my body was aching from the ten hour shift. Despite the screaming in my feet, I stepped onto the elevator, pressing the 1 button harshly, as if I could convey my exhaustion to the elevator. After a quick ride down, I exited the building and began in the direction of home. The apartment was almost a straight shot if I walked through the back alleys. Typically, during the day, I wouldn’t have thought twice. I was slightly over six foot, and due to my many years of weight lifting, I wasn’t anything less than fit. The usual back alley druggies wouldn’t mess with me, and even if they did, I could take them quite easily. At night, it was different. I wasn’t scared, but I tried to be sensible and use caution when navigating the Detroit streets. I could take the longer way, but that would add about five minutes to my time, and my body ached already.

            Anxious to get home, I took the first left back into the alley between two tall, long buildings. There was a bar at the other end, tucked away in a corner lit by only a few yellow flood lights. I passed it quickly, rolling my eyes at the sounds of the music and people inside. I had tried to stay away from the party scene, for the most part. I haven’t been in a bar or club for five years, since I was a freshman in college. The memories associated with them had been enough to keep me out for a very long time.

            Once past the bar, I crossed the street and strolled casually into the next alley. This one was darker, more secluded. There were no street lamps, just two flood lights, and the moon was dimmed by the threatening rain clouds. I flipped on the flashlight on my phone, using it to light my path through the tunnel. The concrete ground was littered with trash, cigarette butts and beer bottles mostly. A few rats scurried away as the beam of light illuminated my path. Making my way down the long stretch, it seemed to come to no end. I shined my flashlight ahead, hoping to see an exit soon, but as I did I stopped dead in my tracks. Peering up ahead, I spotted the body of a woman, crumpled onto the ground, face-first. From the distance I was, she appeared still and lifeless. Battling the internalized voice telling me to turn around and just go the long way, I knew I had to check on the woman, call for an ambulance if necessary. I quickly jogged over to her, trying to quiet the caution I felt deep in the pit of my stomach. I quickly shined my flashlight around the shadows, making sure there was no one else around and that it wasn’t some gang trap. After reassuring myself that we were alone, I knelt beside the woman, who was laying in a pool of blood. She was wearing a tiny dress, which at first appeared red. After a second glance, I realized that it was actually ivory, an off-white, but the dress was so drenched with her blood it had a red appearance. Quickly running the flashlight over her body, I noticed a hole on her left shoulder, near the bottom. . A gunshot wound, which most of the blood was coming from. Using one hand to try and put pressure on the hole to stop the bleeding, I took a deep breath and used the other hand to grab the wrist of the girl. I positioned my middle and index on her radial artery, feeling for a pulse. _Nothing_. I began to feel a sinking feeling deep in my stomach, fearing that I was too late to offer her any help. Despite the first attempt, I tried again, moving my hand from her wrist to her carotid.  I waited for what felt like eternity, when eventually I felt the slightest pulse. It was incredibly weak, but it was present, and that was all the assurance I needed.

            I grabbed at my phone quickly, my hand already somewhat blood-stained. Almost immediately after I pressed the call button, the 911 operator answered. Breathing a slight sigh of relief, I explained the situation and gave my location, trying to get the words out as fast as possible. As I hang up, I dropped the phone beside me and sat back, reaching my hand over the girl. I knew I needed to get her turned to try and secure the exit wound, if there was one. Being as gentle as possible, I slowly flipped her body over. Once she was settled on her back, I searched her chest and stomach for the exit wound, only to come realize there wasn’t one. I cursed under my breath, feeling helpless. I looked up to the girls face, hoping for some type of indication she would be able to pull through, some reassurance that I wasn’t wasting my time. As I did so, I felt my heart stop, my stomach lurch into a nauseated state, my head begin to feel light.

            “Clarke…?” I whispered, my eyes wide and my face draining of color. A million emotions rushed to me at one time- fear, anger, sadness. My heart began to pound and my hands shake. It had been almost five years since I had last seen this girl, spoke to her. I remember the last time we were together, the nasty fight we had. I took a sharp breath, guilt and regret washing over me like her blood that continued to vigorously pump into my hands.

_“Get out! Go! I never want to see your fucking face again. Leave, Clarke! Just go, damn it!”_

            And so she did. I went years without seeing her, although I often longed to. Years of regret and unsettled emotion began to bubble up inside of me, making my stomach clench even more so than before. I brushed a strand of golden blond hair out of her face, exposing a broken girl. Clarke was fighting for air through a busted lip, her eye swollen, shades of purple and blue. I swallowed hard, forcing myself to look away. I remembered her as strong. When we parted, her spirit was fierce and her soul like fire. What had to happen for such a fighter to end up here, like this?

            “Stay with me, Clarke, okay?” I whispered, taking her hand. I couldn’t quite explain why I suddenly felt such a responsibility for her. Maybe it was just my nature to care for her, no matter how long it had been. Maybe it was how vividly I remembered her, remembered everything- her smile, her laugh, her lips that used to drive me mad. My breathing became almost as shallow as hers, my vision blurred by memories. The girl who betrayed me, who I intentionally avoided for the last five years, lay broken in an alley way, and I was the one to find her. This couldn’t really be happening, right?

            My reminiscing was quickly disrupted by the sound of sirens and an ambulance slamming on its breaks in front of the alley. I breathed a sigh of relief, waving my arm in the air to try and alert the paramedics quicker. In the state she was in, I knew time was precious. I watched intently as they hurriedly unloaded the stretcher, quickly bringing it down through the alley.

            “Move, move, move!” One of the paramedics, a man looking to be in his early forties, barked at me, pushing me back and taking my place at her side. I abruptly stood, backing away from them. I was still in shock and my head still hurt like a bitch. I watched as they worked, strapping Clarke onto the stretcher while also taking vitals and starting an IV. They attempted to secure the wound and stop the bleeding. I felt slightly encouraged that maybe I had done the right thing. Maybe she would pull through this.

            “She needs blood, now. Let’s get her in.” The other paramedic said, an African-American man who appeared to be younger than the woman. He spoke with a powerful voice, but somehow seemed smaller than he actually was. The two loaded Clarke into the back with speed. The woman remained with her, while the man hopped out and went to secure the doors.

            “Wait,” I called, grabbing my phone from the asphalt and running up to them. “I want to go, too.”

            “Do you know this girl?” The man asked, seeming confused and now somewhat annoyed that I was wasting time. I nodded in response, taking a deep breath, praying to some god that they would allow me to come. The man seemed unsure, not speaking.  

            “I’m an,” I paused, looking for the right word, “old friend.”  The man nodded, walking around to the cab and opening the door.

            “Hurry and get in.”

            I jumped quickly into the passenger side, my heart racing. It was a very short distance to the trauma center, which everyone was thankful for. During the ride, the paramedic asked me basic information. Her name, medical history, age. Once we arrived, I was instructed to wait outside in the waiting area. Having nothing to do but stir in my own thoughts, I dialed Octavia’s number. Her and Clarke used to be close friends, maybe they still are. After the argument I requested that Octavia not even mention her name around me.

            “Hello?” My little sister’s voice echoed into the phone. She sounded like she had been sleeping, which she probably had. I had forgotten what time it was.

            “Hey, O,” I said with relief, calming for the first time since I found her.

            “Bell? What’s wrong? It’s after three in the morning.”

            “Do you still talk to Clarke?” I questioned, completely skipping over hers. I didn’t mean to be rude, but I honestly didn’t know how to answer it. I didn’t know what was wrong, really, other than I shouldn’t be so worried over a girl who hasn’t been there, a girl who I shoved out of my life. Or rather, who shoved me out of her’s.

            “Wha… why? It’s been how many years, Bellamy? But, no. Not anymore,” Octavia sounded confused. She spoke slowly, and I heard her yawn through her words. Guilt panged at my stomach for waking her, but I knew that this was more important than her sleep.

            “She got shot.” I replied, quite bluntly.

            “What? How do you know?”

            “I’m at the hospital,” I explained, sitting down in one of the waiting room chairs. It was extremely uncomfortable and poked at my back sharply. “I found her.”

            “Oh my God,” Octavia exclaimed, sounding much more awake than before. I heard Lincoln mutter something indecipherable in the background, followed by Octavia shushing him. “Are you okay?”

            “I’m fine, O. Hey, you wouldn’t happen to know how to get in touch with her mom would you?” I asked, hoping she knew the answer. I planned only to stay until someone who she was close to could come. I wasn’t sure why I was staying at all, to be honest, but I felt like it was my duty to. I wasn’t going to abandon her like before.

            “Bell, her mom’s dead. She died last year, that’s part of why we don’t talk anymore. She doesn’t have any living family left, but she did have a boyfriend.”

            “Well damn,” I said, sighing. Clarke’s dad had died when she was little, and Abby and she used to be very close. Abby never like me or Octavia. She said she thought we were reckless and irresponsible. I always thought it was because we weren’t rich. She never liked Clarke’s friends that were less well off. “Do you know how to get in touch with her boyfriend?”

            “No. But, why are you still at the hospital? I thought both of you had moved on from the ab-“

            “Don’t say it.” I snapped at her, cutting her off. I didn’t need a reminder of what happened. Partly because even after all these years, it still hurt. Partially because I didn’t want to get angry and leave her here alone.  

            “Obviously you haven’t moved on,” Octavia groaned. I could picture her rolling her eyes. “Look, Bell, she has changed a lot since you last knew her. Her boyfriend… well, he’s trouble, okay? So don’t get involved with her. She’s not the sweet girl you used to know. I’d advise you to just leave now.”

            “Sure, I…I’ve got to go,” I hung up the phone and sucked in a deep breath, still annoyed at Octavia for the earlier comment and dismissing her previous one. Clarke wasn’t ever really sweet to me. She wasn’t mean, but she was independent and free-willed. She didn’t show affection often. Maybe that was just because we were never really together. She was a close friend, and something much more than that near the end. I don’t believe that she could be as bad as Octavia says. Everyone changes. It’s been years. Last I heard, Clarke was enrolled in an amazing Pre-Med program. I’m sure the demand of that changes things.

            I waited for what seemed like eternity, trying to stay out of my head. The longer I waited and the more I tried, the more my emotions conflicted. I felt angry, then sad, then worried, then just tired. I finally closed my eyes, hoping to get some sleep before I was abruptly stirred.

            “Sir!” I turned around, to see a short, chubby man in a white lab coat walking towards me. “Are you here with Clarke Griffin?” He asked. I replied with a nod as he continued speaking, “I’m Dr. Pausi. Would you mind stepping back here with me?” I followed him through the large, swinging doors and into a plain, white-walled room. In the room there was a counter full of medical supplies and a bed, in which Clarke laid, still unconscious. I glanced up at the monitors and smiled slightly. She seemed stable, her heart rate beeped rhythmically on the machine, drawing lines as it went. I looked to her left where an IV bag full of blood dripped into her arm.

            “She’s stable,” Dr. Pausi said, noticing me looking at the screens. “She’s lucky. She’s expected to make a recovery, but she lost about 42% of the blood in her body. Typically, we put the upper limit at 40%. How she stabilized so fast is beyond our comprehension. After examining the x-rays and imaging, we have decided that the best option would be to leave the bullet in. It’s about an inch and a half away from her heart. Our team feels as if removing it would be more dangerous than to leave it as is,” He explained. I nodded, glancing over at Clarke. She seemed peaceful. Dr. Pausi drew my attention back as he spoke up again. “But, ahem, something came up in the routine screening. Were you aware that Ms. Griffin was using illegal substances?”

            “Um, No,” I shook my head, glancing at her once again. I was shocked. Clarke was never really a risk taker. She drank a few times, but who didn’t? The idea of her being on illegal drugs was almost too foreign for comprehension. That wasn’t her. It never was. Maybe Octavia was right about things changing. The Clarke I knew never would have done that.

            “PCP to be exact,” The doctor explained, pulling me back to reality once again. “She may or may not have withdrawal symptoms, depending on how long she has been using. Due to her condition, I believe that she will need to stay about a week. Do you have contact with any family?”

            “She doesn’t have any left, to my knowledge,” I said, shaking my head, feeling a bit of sorrow for her.

            “Okay. We will have someone soon move her to a regular room. I’ll let you think about it.” With that he walked out, shutting the door behind him. His question left me confused. Think about what? I didn’t know I had anything to think about. Clarke wasn’t my responsibility. I was just there because… well, I still hadn’t decided why I was there. I sat down in the chair beside the hospital bed. I looked at her arm, several pin-point pricks lined her skins surface. I shook my head in disproval.

            “What are you doing to yourself, Clarke?” I whispered, brushing the hair out of her face once again. As I did so, her face turned towards me. I jumped back, not anticipating her movement. My skin flushed and my heart began pumping hard as I saw Clarke’s eyes flutter for a few seconds, then open. They were a familiar soft grey, but had a tired, worn appearance. She blinked a few times, her face twisting in confusion. With a hoarse, quiet voice, she spoke up.

            “Bellamy?”


	2. Chapter Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for the comments and kudos! They absolutely made my day. Here is chapter two.

**Clarke**

* * *

 

            “Bellamy?” I asked, crinkling my forehead in confusion. I glanced around the room, taking in its unremarkable features. Four white walls, some medical equipment. For a moment, I wasn’t sure where I was at. The room’s strong sterile odor filled my nose, making my stomach churn. A hospital. How in the hell did I manage to end up in a fucking hospital, with Bellamy Blake at my side, no less? I tried to sit up some, and as I did so I felt a sharp, stabbing pain in my back and shoulder. I let out a gasp, not anticipating the radiating sting, and squeezed the edge of the bed to try and release some of the tension. It all began coming back to me. Someone shot me. Asshole. I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to figure out the strange sensation that was washing over my body. The feeling was somehow familiar and distant. I knew part of it was to be accredited to the PCP. My favorite. I assumed the other was due to pain medicine. I tried to sit up once more, and let out a slight cry, cursing under my breath. If I had this much pain on the PCP, I couldn’t wait to feel how bad it was once it wore off.

            “Easy, Clarke. You don’t need to move too much,” Bellamy fucking Blake said in a calming voice, putting his hand out to help if I needed it. But I didn’t need it. Not from him, anyway. Seeing him, I felt anger began to brew in me. It didn’t make any sense for him to be here. I didn’t need him. I hadn’t needed him for years. Why did he think I needed him here all of a sudden? And how the hell did I get here?  

            “Why are you here?” I asked slowly. My voice sounded cold, accusing. I tried to replay what had happened in my head, figure out where Bellamy played into the picture. I couldn’t remember seeing him for what, three or four years? No, five, actually. Since high school. For a moment, I feared he was the one who shot me. I knew it wasn’t him though, I remember the guy. He was tall, scrawny, much like all of the other men we do business with. I remember him and Murphy arguing over something, drugs, I think. Then he threatened me, and Murphy told him to do it. I know Murphy didn’t think he actually would, or else he wouldn’t have said it. He protects his girls, especially me. I looked around the room, searching for Murphy. As I did so, I noticed Bellamy sitting still, staring at me. His eyes met mine for just a moment. My stomach fluttered. Or clenched. I wasn’t sure which.

            “I’m the one who found you,” Bellamy finally explained, sensing my confusion. His voice became harsher, less soft. “I figured you needed someone here that you knew when you woke up.”

            “I don’t know you,” I replied bluntly. My words were delayed, slurred, effected by the drugs. I could feel it wearing off, however. The sting in my shoulder became a radiating pain. Bellamy didn’t say anything to my remark. He just looked down at his hands, taking in a deep, shaky breath. He used to do that before, too. He did it when he was frustrated or annoyed. I noticed he hadn’t changed much at all, really. Same dark brown hair, that fell into beautiful curls around his face. Same beautifully tinted skin. Same tiny freckles that dotted his nose like the stars dotted the sky. Same everything. I made a mental note to stop thinking about him. I hated him. I didn’t know why, but at that moment it made sense. “Can I have my phone?” I hissed, trying to avoid his face.

            “I don’t have it,” He replied calmly, reaching into his pocket and handing me a black S5. “But you can use mine.”

            “Thanks,” I said, a little softer this time. I still avoided eye contact and I was still very much out of it. My emotions were all over the place. Maybe it was the PCP still, or all the meds the IV had me hooked up to. Either way, I dialed Murphy’s number, anxious to hear his voice. I missed him. Every second I wasn’t with him I longed for him. He was my constant. He was better than Bellamy. He was my post-Bellamy. Murphy never broke me like Bellamy.

            “Hello?” Murphy picked up. My heart fluttered at his voice. A small smile crept to my face, despite the constant pain that was now shooting down my arm. Murphy sounded sober, which was surprising.          

            “Hey, baby,” I replied, still slurring my words. I stared down at my IV, fiddling with the cord, debating on ripping it out. Whatever they had me hooked to was messing with my high, and I didn’t like it.

            “Clarke?!” Murphy sounded surprised, but not necessarily happy. I felt the smile fall from my face. “How are you… I thought you were dead!”

            “Me too, but I’m not. Look, could you come get me?” I asked, somewhat disappointed at his lack of enthusiasm. He just found out his girlfriend wasn’t dead, and he sounds more upset than happy. I knew it wasn’t personal, but it still stung a little bit. Before Murphy had a chance to respond, Bellamy butt in.

            “Clarke, you can’t go for another week, you’re not healthy enough,” Bellamy said. I knit my brows at him at confusion, but then looked away again.

            “What?”

            “You still have the bullet in. You got shot less than six hours ago. You aren’t healthy enough to go home. You can’t even move.”

            I ignored him, going back to the phone. Bellamy didn’t know what he was talking about. Murphy began speaking again, drawing my attention back. “Look, Clarke. I don’t think you coming back home with me is a very good idea right now, or anytime soon. You’re hurt. You’re not healthy enough for this,” Murphy explained. I felt my stomach clench at his words. He couldn’t possibly be serious.

            “Murphy, don’t do this. I love you, isn’t that enough? I can still work. I promise.” I pleaded, though barely. The more I spoke the harder it became to form coherent words. I knew nothing was going to change Murphy’s mind, anyway. He was stubborn, especially about me.

            “Call me when you’re healthy enough, okay?” He said, completely skipping over my question.

            “Where am I supposed to go?” I asked, swallowing and noticing how dry my throat was. I began to feel the intense anger and sadness building up again.

            “I don’t know, Clarke. It’s not my decision.” With that statement, Murphy hung up the phone. I looked down, bringing the phone down from my ear slowly and taking a deep breath, trying to calm myself. I felt tears begin to well up in my eyes. I’m couldn’t figure out why. Was I sad or angry? Or both?

            “Hey, are you okay?” Bellamy said, reaching out and touching my arm gently. I instinctively jerked away, letting out a cry of pain as I did so. Damn gunshot wound. Damn Murphy. Damn Bellamy.   “Can you tell me what happened? Who shot you?”

            “Too many questions, it doesn’t matter,” I muttered, glancing at him, my desire to talk lessening even more. When I looked up, I met his eyes. They were filled with worry. I took a deep breath, trying to not let myself get lost in them as I used to. I had Murphy now. I didn’t need Bellamy. He’s the reason I’m like this. He’s the one who turned on me. He’s the bad guy.

            “Was it your boyfriend?” Bellamy asked more sternly.

            “What? Of course not!” I replied, looking at him like he was insane. “He didn’t mean for me to get hurt, he just didn’t know how to help.”

            “Wait, he knew you got shot?” Bellamy asked, sitting forward some more, confusion plastered on his face. I just shrugged, then winced again, pain shooting down my spine again.

            “Yeah, I guess, he was there.”

            “And he just left you?!” Bellamy snapped, louder and even more sternly then before. He stood up quickly, making me flinch and sending let another a sharp shooting pain through my body. I ripped the IV out as he did so, knowing the medicine they had me on was somehow blocking the drug effect. I needed to get rid of the pain. I had to. Bellamy must have saw my pained expression, as his body relaxed and said more softly, “Clarke, ripping your IV out isn’t okay, and neither is him leaving you.”

            “You did the same thing,” I replied coldly. Even before I said it, I realized how childish it sounded. It had been five years. I’m sure Bellamy was over it. He probably didn’t even remember the fight. It was a stupid fight. It never should have happened. I knew I should’ve just been honest with him and told him about the pregnancy. Maybe it would’ve changed things.

            “I didn’t leave you to-“

            But I didn’t listen to the rest of his sentence. I rapidly began to feel light-headed, my vision began to go in and out and I heard a machine start beeping.

            “Clarke!?”

            I felt Bellamy turn me on my side as I shakily sucked in a deep breath. This feeling wasn’t normal. I tried to push Bellamy off, but I couldn’t move. My eyes shut, refusing to open even as I wanted them to. I heard one last thing, almost indecipherable.

            “Can someone help? She’s seizing!” 


	3. Chapter Three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to thank you all for your support once again! MUAH!

**Bellamy**

* * *

 

            “Octavia, it isn’t like that, okay?” I said sternly into the phone, pacing the brightly lit hospital hallway. I tried to keep my voice low to avoid disturbing any of the patients or staff. I’m pretty sure Octavia was so angry her voice could be heard through the phone.  

            “Please explain to me how it isn’t like that! Bellamy, you don’t have to be the good guy here. She doesn’t even deserve a good guy. She’s a druggie,” Octavia snapped. Her voice was hard and demanding. I could tell she was pissed, but I tried not to let it bother me.  

            “Yeah, she is a druggie, which is exactly why she needs help. She’s been going through withdrawals, O. She had a seizure and… and she can’t think straight and-“

            “And it’s not your problem,” Octavia interrupted harshly, placing emphasis on every word that left her mouth. “Bellamy, use some logic here. People tried to help mom, didn’t they? You saw where that led them. I don’t even understand why you’re so concerned about _her_. Of all people- her. Do you remember what she did? Do you even care?”

            “Of course I remember,” I said, taking a deep breath, trying to calm myself before I said something to make matters worse. How could I forget? Although I knew Octavia was right, I couldn’t bring myself to abandon Clarke here. Not yet, anyway. It had been five days so far. The third day was the worst. She was in pain, I could tell. She would be completely coherent and then not know who I was or what had happened. The doctors said it was partly due to the pain medicine they had her on, but mostly a result of the PCP withdrawal. Yesterday she had improved, and today she acted somewhat normal. Bitchy, but normal. I was thankful for that, if nothing else. “Look, she has no one,” I explained. “I can’t just leave her.”

            “She did that to herself.”

            “Fine, O. I’ll stay with her until she’s discharged. And then after that, she’ll have to figure it out herself,” I said, trying to settle somewhat of a compromise just to get her off my back.

            “Fine. But Bellamy?”

            “Yeah?”

            “Please be careful this time.”

            “I will,” I told her, hanging up the phone. I knew what she meant, but I couldn’t bring myself to admit it. Octavia was right, after all. There wasn’t a rationale in this world for me staying with her. I’m not even sure that Clarke wants me here. One minute she screams at me to go, and as I get my things she grabs my hand and asks me not to leave. I don’t think she really wants _me_ here. I think she just doesn’t want to be alone. But that’s okay, because I’m not sure I want to be there for her. I’m not ready to forgive her. But I am sure I don’t want her to be lonely. I would want someone to stay with me. Maybe one day karma will repay me, I guess.

            After taking a moment to recover from the phone call, I turned and walked back into the fourth level room. Clarke’s eyes raise to stare up at me, her face emotionless.

            “You know you don’t have to stay.” She hissed for the tenth time, her eyes searching me up and down, almost accusingly. I tried not to let her attitude get to me.

            “I know, but do you want me to?” I asked softly, stepping closer. Clarke just shrugged, then winced as she did so.

            “I want Murphy to,” She explained, her eyes meeting mine in a cold stare. I pursed my lips, sitting in the chair positioned conveniently by her bed.

            “I know,” I said, nodding. John Murphy hadn’t been here at all. The more she spoke about him, the more I wanted to punch him in his face. “But he’s not here. So it’s me or nothing.”

            “Well you’ve already sat down,” Clarke whispered, turning her attention back to the TV mounted on the wall in front of her bed. I grinned, sitting back in the chair. We haven’t mentioned the fight to each other. The little we have spoken, she’s been out of it. At first it was the PCP. Now it’s primarily the morphine, I think. Some words she spoke with venom, others were softer and more welcoming. I wondered if her emotions were as chaotic as mine. If maybe she was having as hard of a time as I was sorting through her thoughts. It was unlikely though. She’d obviously moved on. She probably thought nothing of it, that it was a stupid teenage thing, which it was. I studied her face as she stared intently at the TV.

            “How are you feeling?” I eventually asked, raising my voice above the TV, clenching my hands as I did so.

            “Sober,” Clarke responded with a small laugh. After seeing my slight look of disdain, she added, “But good. I’m okay.”

            “You’re lucky,” I said, and she nodded, although I doubt she really understood how lucky. There was a firm tap on the door, and a nurse walked in, pulling a large, bulky cart with her. She was one of the regular ones, 5’3 with blonde hair pulled back into a sleek ponytail. Her features were sharp, enhanced by her make-up. She was overall attractive, and young. Clarke’s not as young doctor followed her in.

            “Ms. Griffin,” Dr. Pausi said, walking over to her bedside. “I’m just making my morning rounds. How are you feeling?”

            “Okay,” Clarke answered, not meeting him in the eye or bothering to turn the TV down.

            “Do you mind if I take a look at the wound to see how it’s healing?” Dr. Pausi asked, setting his clipboard on the cart next to the nurse. Clarke nodded, gripping the bed to sit up some. I saw a flinch of pain cross her face as she adjusted some. I wanted to see if they could give her more for her pain, but decided that was a bad idea for an addict. Dr. Pausi glanced over at me cautiously. “Do you need to step out?”

            “No,” Clarke answered quickly, before I had a chance to. “He’s okay,”

            I looked at her in confusion, not understanding why she wanted me to stay. Typically, I was already gone when the doctors made their rounds. I was at work, or at home getting ready to go to work. It was Saturday, so I thankfully was relieved of the hellhole for today. At Dr. Pausi’s request, Clarke turned in the bed, using the rails to help her stand. Once she was stabilized, the pained expression on her face disappeared. The doctor separated her hospital gown, exposing the wound and her back. I tried to look away, but caught a glimpse of her back as I did so. There was gauze covering the wound, but the rest of her back had cuts and bruised welts.

            “Is that from the gunshot?” I asked, already knowing the answer. There was no way that the shot caused that. The bruises varied in color and size, as did the welts.

            “No,” Dr. Pausi said bluntly, looking at Clarke as he said so. Apparently they had been here before. “Clarke, you can be honest with us.”

            “It doesn’t matter,” Clarke said sternly, shooting me a harsh look for mentioning it. Her lip was healed, and the dark blue that had surrounded her eye had receded slightly and lightened in color.

            “Well, the wound is healing as expected. There is no infection. I think you may be able to go home tomorrow,” He said, closing her gown as he stepped away.  She nodded, frowning at his words. Dr. Pausi looked at me and then back down at Clarke. “I will come by tomorrow and certify that everything is ready for discharge. I would suggest taking a walk to build up your strength.” With that, Dr. Pausi and the nurse left, shutting the room door behind them. As soon as I heard the click of the door shutting, I leaned forward.

            “What happened?” I asked, more sternly than before. It was obvious she was hiding something from everyone.

            “Like I said, it doesn’t matter,” Clarke answered calmly, looking down, still gripping the bed posts.

            “Like hell, it doesn’t,” I responded quickly, just as stern as before. “Who did that to you? Was it Murphy?”

            “No! I mean… look, it’s none of your business, Bellamy, I can take care of myself,” Clarke said, her voice more hard this time. She looked up at me, taking a deep breath, her blue eyes piercing mine.

            “You can barely stand, Clarke, look at you! You need someone.”

            “Maybe I do,” Clarke snapped. “But it’s not you. I haven’t needed you for five fucking years, okay? I did fine on my own. I didn’t need you then, and I don’t need you now!” She hissed, the bitchy attitude coming back, although she had a valid point.

            “Then I’ll leave,” I said quietly, backing away from her. I clenched my jaw, trying to keep my temper at bay. I didn’t need her attitude. I didn’t even need to be here. I grabbed my phone out of the chair, tucking it in my pocket and turning towards the door.

            “Wait,” I heard Clarke whisper behind me. I stopped in my tracks and twisted my body slightly, frowning. “I don’t need you, but I do need someone. And right now, you’re the only someone I have.”

            Her voice was small, quiet, weak. So different than how she used to speak. As I turned around to face her, I saw her tiny body still grasping onto the bed. Her eyes were distant, as if they were looking off into another world. All of a sudden, I felt the anger in me subside and be replaced with something entirely different. Clarke was vulnerable. She was so skinny, I wondered when the last time she had a good meal was. I walked back over to her, towering over her, about a foot away. I relaxed my posture, feeling pity for her.

            “Come on,” I said. “Let’s go for a walk.”

 

**The Next Day**

 

            I awoke in my bed at 9:30, to the sound of my phone vibrating. I sat up, wiping my eyes while simultaneously grabbing my phone. Octavia had texted me.

 

_Are you home for good yet?_

            I rolled my eyes, jerking the blankets off of me. I didn’t understand why it mattered so much to her. I knew that Clarke and she had a falling out, and I assumed it was just because of the drugs. Normally Octavia wasn’t so involved in my life, and it made no sense to me why she was suddenly concerned. I didn’t text her back. Instead, I stood up and walked to the bathroom. I quickly showered and got dressed, choosing to skip over breakfast. I wasn’t all that hungry, especially in the mornings. I remembered today, how Clarke was supposed to be discharged. She seemed well yesterday. We went for a walk, although an incredibly silent one. I was beside her, to offer support when needed. She often had to take breaks, about every five minutes or so, but she was growing stronger. We walked around the hospital and outside. After a good thirty minutes, I could tell she was in pain. After coming back to her room, I had headed home.

            I now found myself grabbing my keys off the counter. The hospital was a much farther walk than the office, so I chose to drive rather than walk. I locked the apartment door and walked downstairs to the main lobby. I waved to the lady walking her dog, and slipped into my black 2010 GT Mustang. I had saved for it for years, owning one had always been a dream of mine. When I got hired on as a manager/editor at the Detroit Times, I finally brought in enough to get one. I turned the ignition, smiling as the engine purred to life. Putting her in drive, I pulled out and drove quickly down the streets, making my way to the hospital. I drove into the parking garage, locking the doors and heading inside. I nodded towards the lady at the front desk. She smiled politely, her eyes quickly looking back down at the paperwork on her desk. I rode the elevator up to the fourth floor, looking out the glass back and over the hospital lobby. Once we reached the level, I walked quickly to Clarke’s room. The door was already open, so I just walked in. Clarke was sitting up in the chair beside her bed. She kept staring down at some papers, not looking up even as I cleared my throat.

            “Hey,” I said worriedly, stepping towards her. “Is everything okay?”

            “Yeah, I get to leave today,” Clarke said quietly, looking up at me for a second, but not meeting my eye. Most people were happy to go home, instead she seemed dismayed. Clarke sighed, laying the papers on the bedside table. I could tell something was off.

            “Is someone coming to pick you up?” I questioned, shoving my hands in my pockets and leaning up against the wall. Clarke looked at me with a sad, half smile.

            “No, I’m just going to walk,” She mumbled. At first I thought she was joking, then I realized she was being serious.

            “To where?” I asked, looking her up and down. I realized for the first time that she didn’t have any clothes with her. She dress she had was ruined, probably cut off and thrown away the first night at the trauma unit. The idea of her walking home would’ve been amusing if it wasn’t so sad. Clarke could barely make it around the floor, much less walk home.

            “I know some places,” Clarke eventually responded. “The nurse should be here soon to prep me for leaving.”

            “Would you at least let me drive you?” I offered, taking my hands out of my pockets and walking over to the bed. I sat down at the foot end, the farthest away I could sit from her. We still weren’t comfortable with each other yet.

            “You’ve already done enough.”

            “I don’t mind,” I insisted, meeting her eye. As soon as I did, she looked away, taking a deep breath.

            “I guess it’s okay, then,” Clarke said, even more quietly. I nodded, glancing down at the papers Clarke had laid on the table. As I did, the nurse walked in, distracting me. It was a different nurse. She was taller, thinner than all of the others. Her hair was bright red, piled in a messy bun on the very top of her head. She looked young, perhaps younger than I was. She smiled, her teeth perfectly white and straight. She had a familiar look about her, but I couldn’t quite place it.

            “Hello, Ms. Griffin,” The nurse said in an upbeat voice. “I’m Katy, I’m going to be taking care of your discharge today. I see they’ve already brought you the billing papers and discharge instructions. Is your boyfriend going to be taking you home today?”

            “He’s not my boyfriend, but yes,” Clarke answered quickly, her voice louder than before. I chuckled quietly, looking at the nurse. A slight look of embarrassment crossed her face, making my smile even bigger.

            “Oh, my apologies. Well if you’re ready to go I can help you get changed and take you down,” Katy said, her fake smile not faltering. She sat her clipboard down on the counter and walked over to where we were. I quickly stood up and moved out of her way, anxious to leave.

            “Um- I was actually wondering if I could just keep this?” Clarke asked, gesturing down to her hospital gown. She kept her head down and spoke slowly, as if she was embarrassed. Katy glanced up at me with a confused look, to which I just shrugged.

            “I-I guess so,” Katy answered. Clarke nodded and stood up using the bars on the edge of the bed. I tried to ignore her wince as Katy helped her out into the hall, where a wheel chair awaited us.

            “Oh, I can walk,” Clarke said, backing away from the wheel chair as if it were going to bite her.

            “It’s just policy, Ms. Griffin,” Katy insisted, turning the wheel chair towards Clarke. Clarke sighed, shooting me a dirty look like it was my fault. I rolled my eyes, cracking a half smile. She could be so dramatic. Katy helped to lower her into the chair, then took off the chair breaks. She rolled Clarke to the elevator, then out to where I had parked. I unlocked the door as we approached, the tail-lights flickering in response.

            “That’s yours?” Clarke whispered, a hint of disbelief and awe tracing her voice. I laughed and nodded.

            “Not too bad, huh?”

            “Better than Berta,” Clarke said with a quiet laugh. My breath caught in my throat. I was surprised she even remembered the car, much less what we used to call it. Berta was my first car, a 1990 Chevy Lumina. As a sixteen year old, I paid a whole $850 cash, and can’t count how much I spent fixing her every two weeks when she broke. I drove Berta up until I bought my Mustang. I had her scraped the day after. She was iconic for high-school me. I was the first of my friends to have a car. O and Clarke used to have me drive them around. She was the place where Clarke and I-

            “Bellamy?” Clarke said, interrupting my train of thought, which was probably for the best. “You okay?”

            I nodded, opening the passenger door for them. I put my arm out to help Clarke, but of course she ignored me and stood up by herself, using the door for stability. She sunk into the black leather seat and looked up at me. I shut the door carefully and turned towards Katy, who had yet to leave. She backed away from the car and pulled a bag out of her scrub pocket, handing it to me secretly.

            “This is Clarke’s medicine. It’s Oxycodone and antibiotics. I didn’t want to give it to her because of her… history,” Katy explained softly, glancing toward the car to make sure Clarke didn’t hear. “The directions are written on the bottle.”

            I nodded and thanked her, tucking the bag in my pocket. I walked to the driver side door and slipped in.

            “Where to?” I asked, putting the car in reverse. Clarke just shrugged.

            “I can just give you directions,” She finally said, staring out the window. “Just head towards downtown.”

            I did as she instructed, trying to drive carefully. I knew the bumps and jerking motions would irritate the wound on Clarke’s shoulder. I accelerated slowly and was careful to slow down in plenty of time for turns. I could hear Clarke growing restless beside me, fiddling with everything.

            “Turn up by Michael’s,” Clarke instructed as we began to enter into downtown. I flipped on my blinker, looking both ways before I turned down the side street. As we travelled down the street, we passed over one of the bridges.

            “Pull to the side over here,” Clarke said, pointing to a gravel side on the road. I looked at her in confusion, but did as she said. Once I had stopped, she began to take off her seatbelt.

            “Woah, what are you doing?” I asked, putting my hand over hers to stop her. She immediately jumped back at my touch.

            “I’m getting out?”

            “Here? Where are you going to go?” I asked, looking at her, sitting in the hospital gown, looking even smaller than before. She appeared to be shrinking every time I saw her.

            “I’ll find somewhere,” Clarke said, finishing unbuckling her seatbelt. She put her hand out as if expecting something.

            “Clarke, I’m not leaving you here. You aren’t healthy enough to walk anywhere, you’re in a damn hospital gown for Christ’s sake, and you have nothing,” I pointed out, locking the doors to keep her from opening them. I wasn’t typically a control freak, and I didn’t want to kidnap her, but I wasn’t stupid enough to just let her go.

            “Then what would you like for me to do? I don’t exactly have anywhere to go,” Clarke argued back, unlocking the doors and grabbing the door handle, dropping the outstretched hand.

            “You can stay with me for a little bit,” I said quickly, without even thinking. Clarke looked at me like I was insane.

            “No, Bellamy!”

            “Why not?”

            “You just pointed out that I didn’t have anything,” Clarke said, her eyes looking over at me with confusion. “It’s fine, just give me my medicine and I’ll go.”

            “What do you mean you don’t have anything?” I asked, ignoring her medicine question. She must have been watching when the nurse handed it over. Figures.

            “I don’t have any money. I don’t have a phone. All of my clothes are at Murphy’s. I don’t feel good enough to have sex. I don’t-”

            “Wait a minute, who said anything about sex?” I interrupted, knitting my brows in confusion. Clarke laughed and shook her head.

            “If it isn’t money or sex that you want, what in the hell is it, Blake?”

            “Who said I want anything?”

            “You’re offering to let me stay with you. You’re the only person who came saw me last week. You’re being nice to me. _Why_? I have nothing to give,” Clarke said, her voice softer, sounding more broken. I saw her swallow and loosen her grip on the door handle. She stared over at me, her blue eyes meeting mine and dwelling there for longer than before.

            “Maybe it isn’t about taking something,” I explained, relocking the door just to be on the safe side. Clarke huffed and rolled her eyes again.

            “I don’t want to bother you,” She said.

            “You won’t,” I assured her, putting the car in drive and pulling back into the road, heading towards my apartment before she could protest further. Clarke said nothing, just sat and stared out the window. I occasionally glanced over at her, checking to make sure she was okay. She didn’t move a muscle the entire ride. She just sat, staring. As we pulled up and I parked, she looked over at me, anticipating something. I turned off the ignition and opened my door. Once Clarke had her door open, I locked them and hurried around to Clarke’s side. She stood up using the door for balance once again. I tried to help her, offering her my arm. As always, she declined my help and walked around me. I could tell she was in pain. This was the longest she’d been off IV medication since she got into the hospital. Despite the obvious sting in her shoulder and back, she followed me inside and down the hall to the stairs and elevator. Clarke headed toward the stairs and I stopped her.

            “No, we’re riding the elevator up,” I said.

            “I am fine,” She insisted, putting emphasis on every word. I rolled my eyes and decided to give in. When I was little, my mother used the strategy of letting me learn from my own mistakes. I guess that is was Clarke needed. I led her over the stairs, standing behind her in case she needed help. She took the first few steps slowly, gripping the handrail tight. I heard her take a deep breath before taking three more steps quickly. I saw her go for the next, but I laid a hand on her left shoulder, to which she jerked away from. She gasped in response to the pain of sudden movement.

            “Take it easy,” I said quietly, moving beside her on the steps. Clarke rolled her eyes and continued up the other four steps, but a little slower. Once we reached the top, she stopped, still holding onto the bar. I waited for her to catch her breath before leading her down the hall to my apartment. I unlocked the door and pushed it open for her. She looked around first, before stepping in. I followed her in, shutting the door behind me.

            “It’s nice,” Clarke whispered, looking around. I shrugged, walking past her into the kitchen. It was a simple apartment. One bed, one bath. It was all I needed, really. I pulled her meds out and sat them on top of the refrigerator. Clarke just stood by the couch, leaning against it for security and studying my every more. “Hey, don’t you have to work?”

            “It’s Sunday” I said, opening the refrigerator and grabbing a bottle of water. I sat it on the counter before going into the laundry room and grabbing an extra blanket and pillow, as well as moving a load of laundry through. After I moved out, I was amazed how fast one person could go through clothes. I walked back out to the living room, water bottle, blanket and pillow in hand.

            “Oh- I don’t need that,” Clarke said. I laughed.

            “It’s not for you,” I said, setting it down on the couch. “You can have my bed. It’s more comfortable.”           

            “Bellamy, no.” Clarke said, straightening up a little to make herself look bigger.

            “I don’t mind,” I insisted, pausing and looking up at her.

            “I said no.”

            “Clarke-” I sighed, slight annoyance tracing my voice.

            “I’m serious, Bellamy! I don’t understand! Why are you doing all of this? Why did you stay with me? I never asked you to. I never even wanted you to, really! Do you know how weird it is? You’re acting like the abortion never happened! You’re acting like we never had the fight, like things never changed,” Clarke said, raising her voice out of nowhere. I looked up at her sharply.

            “I don’t want to talk about that right now.” I said back, my voice slow and stern. With her words came back the memory.

            _“What did you do, Clarke?” I asked, hurt laced in my voice._

_“I did what I had to do.” Clarke answered slowly, avoiding meeting my eyes._

_“You didn’t even bother to tell me you were pregnant!”_

_“It doesn’t matter. What’s done is done!” She screamed back._

_“That was my baby, too. You didn’t make it all by yourself.”_

_“Bellamy-“_

_“Get out! Go! I never want to see your fucking face again. Leave, Clarke! Just go, damn it!"_

“We have to talk about it, Bellamy. It’s the fucking elephant in the room that you keep trying not to look at! Why did you all of a sudden stop hating me?” Clarke asked, her voice lowering a bit, marked by confusion.

            “I never hated you.” I clarified.

            “You sure had me fooled!”

            “Well what in the hell did you expect, Clarke?!” I yelled, stepping closer to her. Her words lit the temper I’d worked so hard to keep at bay. “I wasn’t even mad about the abortion. I couldn’t have cared less about that. I was mad that you were pregnant and didn’t think to mention it to me! I was hurt and betrayed-”

            “I was protecting you, Bellamy! You couldn’t handle that responsibility, neither of us could. We were fucking kids!”

            “That doesn’t change anything, Clarke! You want to know why I’m trying to help you? Maybe it’s because I’ve moved on! Maybe I want to try and be a decent human being,” I snapped, stepping closer to her. Clarke just shook her head.

            “Those don’t exist, Bellamy!”

            “Maybe not for drug addicts, but for me they do!” I winced slightly at my words, secretly hoping they didn’t sound as rude as they were meant to be.

            “I’m not a drug addict!” Clarke screamed back, even louder. I rolled my eyes in annoyance.

            “Then what are you!?”

            “Scared! I’m fucking scared, Bellamy.”

            I stopped, all the anger that had been building seemed to flat line. I looked at Clarke, her face flushed, her chest heaving. I clenched and unclenched my fists, trying to decide what to say. Emotions bubbled up inside of me. I couldn’t think of an answer. I couldn’t think of anything. All I could see was her, standing in front of me. I didn’t know whether to scream at her or hug her or kick her out. So I did what any rational person would do. I leaned down, cupping her cheek with my hand and I kissed her.

 _Hard_.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, thank you for the comments and kudos. Y'all are the best by far! Feel free to keep them coming, they absolutely make my day.


	4. Chapter Four

**Clarke**

* * *

 

            I had no idea what had just happened. One minute I was screaming at Bellamy, anger coursing through my veins, cheeks flushed, heart pounding. The next minute he was kissing me with such passion, I had no choice but to kiss back. It was quick, but felt like an eternity. Bellamy pulled away hastily, his expression seeming even more confused than mine had been.

            “What was that?” I breathed, my hands grasping the couch for security as Bellamy’s figure towered over me.

            “I, uh, I don’t know why we just did that,” Bellamy said quietly, pursing his lips and stepping back awkwardly to give me some room.

            “You,” I corrected, sternly. “Why _you_ just did that.”

            “You kissed back,” He replied, mockingly. I rolled my eyes as he turned away from me, walking back into the kitchen and glancing out the window. I could tell he was embarrassed, so he quickly tried to change the subject. “Are you hungry?”    

            “No, but do you have a shower?” I asked, straightening out my hospital gown. “And maybe some clothes?”

            “Nope, I don’t shower and I run around naked,” Bellamy said with a laugh, walking back through the living room towards a hallway. I stood up straight, following him towards a room.

            “You’re not funny,” I said coldly, trying to hide my small smile. Bellamy stopped at a door and looked over at me, feigning offense.

            “Shut up, I’m very funny,” He smirked as he pushed the door open. As we walked in, he flipped the light switch on with one smooth motion. The room was fairly simple. A desk in one corner, a dresser in the other. A queen size bed was centered on the back wall, with grey and black striped patterns on the comforter. The walls were a bare light grey. The bed was unmade, but the rest of the room was fairly neat and organized. Bellamy walked through to the doorway in the corner, into what I assumed was the bathroom. After glancing around once more, I followed him in. I quickly studied over it as well, noting the minor details. My eyes wandered to the sink and I busted out laughing.

            “Is that a Star Wars toothbrush?” I questioned.

            “Um, no?” Bellamy defended, stepping in the way of my sight, his broad shoulders blocking my view. I looked up at him annoyed and he cracked a small smile, shrugging. I sighed, looking away from him and down at the tile floor. He was close, very close. I felt the hair on the back of my neck raise and I took a deep, uneasy breath. Bellamy smirked as he reached up around me into the cabinet and grabbed a towel and a wash cloth, both mint green in color, as well as a bottle of women’s shampoo, conditioner and soap. He sat them on the counter beside the shower. I moved out of his way, raising one eyebrow at the collection of women’s toiletries that men typically didn’t have just laying around. Bellamy must have picked up on it. “It’s Octavia’s. She used to stay here a lot. Now, you know not to get the bandage and wound wet, right?”

            I nodded, reaching around to untie the back of my hospital gown.

            “Are you sure you feel well enough to stand up for that long?” Bellamy asked, his voice softer and more concerned than before. I just shrugged in response, stepping past him towards the shower. He worried too much.

            “If you need help, let me know,” He concluded, walking back into his room. “I’ll bring you the clothes in a minute.”

            I turned on the water, waiting for it to heat up. Once Bellamy was out of eyesight, I slipped off the gown and stepped into the stream of warm water, letting the heat course over my body. I jerked the shower curtain closed, hearing Bellamy’s footsteps returning into the bathroom.

            “The clothes are on the counter, too.” Bellamy said, his voice rising louder than the sound of the water hitting the shower bottom. I waited to hear his receding footsteps, but they never came.

            “Are you still out there?” I asked quietly, massaging the apple scented shampoo into my hair and scalp.

            “Yes, do you need help?” Bellamy replied, a little too quickly.

            “I need privacy,” I snapped harshly, sticking my lather covered head out of the shower to see where he was. I saw him against the wall in the far corner, his eyes centered on his phone.

            “No, you need to be monitored.” He replied, not missing a beat.

            I was about to protest when I felt the water hit my back, just beside my shoulder blade. I gasped in response, the hole on my back beginning to sting. I moved back into the shower but kept out of the stream of water, trying to wait out the burning sensation. The quick motion made the wound hurt even more. I heard a groan outside of the curtain.

            “You got it wet, didn’t you?” Bellamy asked, his voice laced with annoyance. I frowned, feeling guilty. I didn’t answer him. Instead, I rinsed the shampoo out of my hair and quickly replaced it with conditioner. As I waited for the conditioner to set, I washed the rest of my body, enjoying the warmth the water offered me. Once I had finished rinsing everything, I turned the faucet off and pulled open the shower curtain.

            “Whoa, hold on,” Bellamy said, turning around quickly. I rolled my eyes, reaching for the towel and drying myself off. The bandage used to cover my wound had lost its adhesiveness, it barely clung to my skin by a single corner. I pulled it off and tossed it in the trash.

            “It isn’t anything you haven’t seen before,” I pointed out, wrapping my hair up in the mint towel. As I said it, I looked down, remembering that one night. We were both considerably drunk. I had just had a bad break up with my boyfriend, he was a horny college kid. It just sort of happened. If I could go back, I never would’ve let it happen. I didn’t regret the sex necessarily, but rather what the consequences did to us, to me.

            “Doesn’t mean I need to see it now,” Bellamy insisted. He could be so childish at times. I picked up the clothes. They were some of Octavia’s old ones, I could tell. I remembered the Beetles shirt from high school, and the sweatpants were much too small to even fit one of Bellamy’s legs. Along with the shirt and pants, there was a pair of underwear and a bra, also Octavia’s. I laughed quietly. Octavia was much more blessed than I was, but it worked anyway. I quickly put the underwear on, then the sweatpants.

            “Bellamy?” I asked quietly.

            “Hm?”

            “Do you have a band-aid for my shoulder?”

            “A band-aid?” Bellamy laughed, turning around. I saw him glance at my shirtless torso and swallow hard. He looked away quickly.  “I’ll have to bandage it the old fashion way. Sit down,” He said, a little harder than before.

            I did as he instructed, sitting on the cold, white counter. I watched as he dug under his cabinet and pulled out a large first aid kit. It looked as if it had never been opened. Everything was still wrapped and organized, much like the rest of his house. Bellamy pulled out a gauze pad and medical tape, pulling them from their little plastic covers. He reached up, moving my bra strap out of the way, sending chills down my spine. I took a deep breath, preparing for his touch near the sore and inflamed area. I felt him lay the gauze on my back, securing it with one hand while he tore off a piece of tape. I clenched my jaw, trying to hold back tears.

            “So are you going to tell me why your back looks like a punching bag now?” Bellamy asked nonchalantly, pressing the tape down on my shoulder. I tried to move away from the pain, but failed. Bellamy must have finally picked up on it, as he released some of the pressure. “Sorry.”

            “It’s fine and it doesn’t matter, okay?” I insisted, closing my eyes to try and think of anything else.

            “It matters to me,” Bellamy replied, taping down another side of the gauze. “Why is it just your back?”

            “It’s not,” I snapped quickly, regretting my words as soon as they came out. I sighed and shook my head. “Just drop it, Bellamy. Please?”

            “He hurts you, doesn’t he?” Bellamy asked, moving around to face me, his face becoming more serious than it had been earlier. He tried looked into my eyes, which resulted in me averting my gaze quickly. I took a deep breath and shook my head.

            “No, he just… look, our line of work is rough. It isn’t always sunshine and rainbows. We do what is necessary to survive,” I explained, rubbing the back of my hand to keep my anxiety at bay.

            “You mean what is necessary to get your next fix?”

            “Whatever,” I rolled my eyes and slid off the counter, pulling the shirt over my head gently. Surviving and a fix was basically the same thing. Those not involved in our world didn’t understand it, but I couldn’t expect them to. The wound began to ache even more that before. I looked up at Bellamy. “Can I have some medicine now?”

            Bellamy nodded, seeming to drop the conversation. I followed him back through the bedroom and into the kitchen. He reached above the refrigerator, grabbing the brown paper bag that rattled as he pulled it down. I watched as he pulled two orange pill bottles out of the bag and sat them down on the counter. He gave me a distrusting look before picking one of the bottles back up. I grabbed the other one, searching the label for a name. Penicillin. Just a regular antibiotic. I unscrewed the cap, shaking one of the white oval pills out into my hand. Bellamy gave me a white round pill from the bottle he had. I looked at the label as he sat it down, noticing only the “oxy” part of it. I shrugged, popping them both in my mouth and swallowing them down.

            “So, what is your ‘line of work’, exactly?” Bellamy interrogated, taking both bottles and tucking them back in the bag. I frowned at his question, not sure of how to answer it without receiving judgement. I knew if I told him the truth, he’d never look at me the same way again. He already thought I was a worthless druggy, much less a whore. I took a deep breath and shrugged.

            “It’s nothing, really,” I answered, turning away from him and walking back to the living room. I heard his footsteps behind me and sighed, knowing he probably wasn’t going to drop this one.

            “You can tell me,” He insisted. I just shook my head in response, sitting down on his brown leather couch. He remained standing at the end, near the armrest, staring at me curiously.

            “I don’t want to,” I replied sternly, looking up at his face. I could see the frown, his brown eyes searching me over for a clue. His lips were pressed firmly together, his hair falling in curls around his ears. I half smiled, looking down his body. He was just as handsome as always, but also just as aggravating.

            “Why won’t you tell me anything?” Bellamy asked, shoving his hands in his pockets. I shrugged, not answering. I heard him sigh with annoyance and felt his eyes piercing my skin. Talk of my career ignited a longing deep in my stomach.

            “Can I call Murphy?” I asked, perking up slightly. I missed him greatly. This was the longest we had been apart since we first started dating. It was late afternoon, so he shouldn’t be too busy. I know he would be happy to talk to me. I looked up at Bellamy with hopeful eyes. He didn’t change his grim expression. He just grabbed his phone out of his pocket and tossed it on the couch beside me, walking into the kitchen after. I smiled to myself, quickly dialing Murphy’s number. It rang three times before he finally answered.

            “Hello?” Murphy said, his voice was low and quiet.

            “Hey,” I breathed with relief.

            “Clarke,” Murphy asserted. I heard him sigh behind the phone. He didn’t sound relieved, but rather frustrated. Maybe he was busy, after all. “Are you still at the hospital?”

            “No, no, I’m at a friend’s now,” I explained, glancing into the kitchen to see Bellamy filling a pot full of water.

            “Who?” Murphy questioned, sounding more interested.

            “Oh, you don’t know-“

            “Who?” He demanded, cutting off my sentence. I bit my lip, wincing at his words.

            “Octavia’s brother, Bellamy,” I whispered, looking down at my lap. Octavia and Murphy never really got along well. We were only friends for about a month after Murphy and I started dating. She and Lincoln got engaged, and that’s when Lincoln broke the news to her. She hasn’t spoke to me since.

            “Are you charging him?” Murphy asked, his voice emotionless.

            “What?” I replied, confused. “It isn’t like that, Murphy. He’s just helping me out for a little bit.”

            “Mhm,” He laughed. I could tell he didn’t believe me and he was growing annoyed. Despite this, I tried to change the subject.

            “When can I come home?”

            “When you are healthy enough, Clarke. I can’t have you around with the other girls until then. I don’t really want you around until then,” Murphy said. As he spoke, I felt my stomach drop. I was so ready to get home. Life with Murphy was hard, no doubt. He was pushy and controlling, but he took care of me. I was _his_ girl. The others were just employees. But I was the one he loved. We lived together. We did everything together. I took a deep breath.

            “Okay. I love you” I said, but he had already hung up the phone. I laid Bellamy’s phone down beside me, feeling defeated. I turned around to look in the kitchen. Bellamy was standing by the stove, stirring something. I stood up and walked in there. He glanced at me, but said nothing. “Since when can you cook?”

            “I can’t,” Bellamy said, putting the wooden spoon down. It hit the counter with a loud pop. “But I can make spaghetti.”

            “Yum.” I said, leaning against the counter. Bellamy nodded, staring down at the pot, still silent. I sighed, looking up at him. “What’s wrong?”     

            “You,” He said harshly, maintaining his stare at the pot. I looked at him in confusion, moving back slightly. My heart jumped as he spoke. I knew I shouldn’t have come with him. He could be so open one minute, and then completely cold the next. He was always like that, ever since I could remember. He had a hard childhood. He practically raised Octavia. His father left when he was 3, right after Octavia was born. His mother wasn’t around much. She lived the same lifestyle I do. Maybe that was why he took care of me. Maybe he saw his mother in me. I watched as he turned off the stove eye, drained the pasta and turned towards me. “I’m sorry. But you have to start talking, Clarke. I’m trying really, really hard to help you here. I don’t know how to help you if I don’t know anything about you.”

            “I know,” I admitted, moving out of his way as he grabbed the sauce jar. “But you’ll never look at me the same if I told you everything.”

            “Probably not,” Bellamy said, mixing the meat and sauce. “But you aren’t the same. You’ve changed, that’s inevitable. I’m not going to judge you for what you’ve done, though. I’m no angel myself.”

            “Really,” I said, laughing. “I find that hard to believe.”

            “How?”

            “Look around. You live in a very nice flat, you have food, TV, a sports car. You went to college and you have this perfect little job in a perfect little office. What wrong could you possibly have done?” I pointed out, a little annoyed.

            “You’re right. I made a life for myself. I worked hard to get where I am. That doesn’t mean I haven’t made bad choices, though. Even before we… did what we did , I made bad choices,” Bellamy explained, pulling two plates out of the cupboard and fixing himself one. I followed his lead.

            “So what? You smoked some pot and got drunk. You were a teenager, Bellamy. That’s normal,” I insisted, following him to the table and sitting across from him.

            “You just don’t understand.”

            After dinner, Bellamy sat in the living room, doing work, I suppose. I sat in the chair across the room and watched reruns of House. We hadn’t really spoken to each other since before dinner. I yawned, looking across the room at the clock. It was only seven, but I was exhausted.

            “I’m tired,” I said to Bellamy. He looked up, placing the laptop on the coffee table.

            “Do you want to take your medicine and go to bed?” He asked. I nodded, standing up. We walked into the kitchen, where he gave me another pain pill, with a bottle of water this time. I swallowed the pill, then followed him to the bedroom, which he insisted I slept in. I would’ve been fine sleeping on the couch, but Bellamy was too much of a gentleman to allow that. He flipped on the light and placed the bottle of water beside the bed on the stand.        

            “If you need me, let me know,” He said before shutting the door. I listened for his footsteps to recede before I flipped the light off. I walked over and sat on the bed, stripping the sweatpants off as I did. Sleeping with pants was brutally uncomfortable for me, always had been. I slipped under the blankets and laid my head down, thankful for a warm, roomy bed compared to the hospital beds I had become accustomed to. Even back at home, Murphy and I shared a futon. This big, queen size bed was a luxury I didn’t deserve. It took no time for me to quickly fall asleep.

            But sleep never was easy for me. I had dreams, nightmares. I screamed, kicked, fought my way through the torture that my own sadistic mind played. They weren’t rare. I always thought it was the drugs before, but maybe I’m just messed up. I was quickly awakened from my sleep, in the middle of a vision of some doctor cutting me open without anesthesia, the searing pain all too real.

            “Clarke?!”

            I shook my head, my heart pounding, tears in my eyes. I was still out of it, and I had no idea what was going on. The room was dark. I sat up quickly, regretting the movement. My back felt as if it was being stabbed. I gasped with pain, trying to breathe through the lump in my throat. I felt a hand on my back and a body slip beside me.

            “Hey, it’s okay, it was just a dream,” A deep voice soothed, rubbing my back and pulling me closer. I normally would fight physical contact, but this time I didn’t. I went with the pull of a hand, lying my head on a chest, wiping away tears and coughing. I closed my eyes, my body shaking. He continued rubbing my back, his warm breath tousling my hair gently. I felt myself relax for a moment.

_Bellamy_

            And for the first time in a very long time, I felt safe. Truly safe.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gracias once again to those who commented/kudoed! They make my day!


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